Dancing
by RedGrayBall
Summary: The precinct's annual Christmas Ball is approaching, and not everyone is looking forward to it.
1. Chapter 1

The small poster on the bullpen noticeboard was predictably a combination of red, green, and a dusting of white. The annual Police Officer's Ball was once again coming up in just over a month, and the text indicated that both single and couple's tickets were available now, all proceeds to fund the evening.

 _They used Comic Sans? Really?_

Castle closed his eyes for a moment, then put on what he hoped was a good approximation of his usual cheery morning smile, before continuing on his way towards Beckett's desk.

He set down the two coffees he was carrying, and lowered himself into his chair, before looking up at his partner. She was already looking at him, with the barest hint of a smile on her face.

"'Morning, Castle," she said, and he nodded in response.

"Good morning," he replied.

Beckett picked up her coffee and took a sip, closing her eyes for a moment as she did so. Castle watched her, keeping his expression carefully neutral. After a few moments, she sat the cup down again, and met his eyes once more.

"So," she said, and he raised an eyebrow.

"So?"

" _So_ , you saw the flyer for the ball."

Castle paused for a moment, then simply nodded. "Yup."

"I hear that Espo asked Lanie," Beckett said, as if sharing a great secret.

"Huh," Castle replied, a little surprised. "And she said…?"

"She said she'd think about it, but she's going to say yes."

"Huh," he said again, folding his arms in contemplation. "Well, great. That's good. I hope it works out for them this time."

Beckett picked up her coffee again. "Yeah. Me too. And Ryan's bringing Jenny, of course."

"Of course," Castle replied, with another nod.

He understood the subtext; you didn't have to be a bestselling novelist for this one. She was playing their usual game, that they'd found their way back into at some point during the intervening months since that long summer of separation after she was shot. The game where she expected him to push, and to flirt, and to make innuendo.

 _Then she gets to sidestep or step back, and to maybe flirt and maybe not, and sometimes to pretend she doesn't notice._

It was a dance, actually, more than a game. Elegantly choreographed, and no matter how long you performed the moves, you ended up in exactly the same place when the night drew to a close.

 _Stalled,_ he thought.

Which was why he'd been coming to a realisation lately, and to a decision even more recently. He was stepping back. Not from the precinct, or their partnership, or their friendship — those were non-negotiable. He'd said _always_ , and he meant it. He'd be there for her. But from this hope and longing inside him, that more and more seemed to just be a way for him to torture himself every day. He was stepping back from that.

His mind had replayed the conversation on the swings so many times. He knew it by heart. But its meaning had become less clear with every passing week and month. Vague assurances, and all sounding so very like what he wanted to hear, but without anything concrete. Without any idea of a timeframe. Without even any confirmation that it was him she was talking about — and certainly she'd made no attempt at clarification since then.

The bombing case had clinched the matter. _I remember every second of it_. It had been like a punch in the gut, or maybe a bullet to the chest. He hadn't left the loft all weekend after the case was closed, and had even taken two sick days on the Monday and Tuesday, with an entirely fictional mild flu. The bags under his eyes and the flush to his face had made it believable to his daughter and his mother, but the heat in him was from humiliation instead of fever.

He still considered it his greatest act of self-control to show up again at the precinct, and continue as if nothing had changed. It got easier after the first two days, and now a further week had passed. He wondered if he'd even missed his calling as an actor. Beckett didn't suspect a thing.

But there were limits to how far he'd go to maintain the pretence of playing their same old game. Doing the same old dance. So now he was acting as if he didn't know what she was hinting at, and he was most certainly _not_ inviting her to the Christmas ball, even though this was the first time during their partnership that she'd been both single and remotely likely to accept at this time of year.

She was sipping her coffee again, and looking at him as if she was trying to figure something out. After another moment, she spoke.

"I think LT's coming round later to take ticket orders," she said. "There was an email."

"Mm," he replied. "Remind me to chip in a donation. Maybe Gates will hear about it and go easy for a while."

He reached for his own coffee, studiously not noticing the slight crease that appeared on Beckett's brow.

"So do we have a case?" he asked, and she looked at him for a long moment before replying.

"Uh, no, not so far. Paperwork til then."

"Enjoy," he said, giving her his best smug grin, and took his phone out of his pocket. He tapped the Angry Birds app, and soon he was engrossed in the game.

Beckett kept looking at him for almost half a minute before turning her attention back to her computer. The crease on her brow had deepened.

* * *

Castle looked up when he noticed a tall presence in his peripheral vision, across at Ryan and Esposito's desks. LT was there, holding a clipboard in one hand and a pen in the other.

"Back in a sec," he said, causing Beckett to look up from a form she was filling in, and then he stood up and strolled over to where the three men were chatting amiably. Beckett turned in her chair to track his progress.

"Hey Castle, you're just in time," Esposito said, pointing towards the clipboard LT held. "Social event of the season."

"So I'm told," Castle replied, smiling at LT and also nodding at Ryan, who stood with his hands in his pockets, casually leaning against his own desk. Castle focused his attention on the uniformed man.

"Can I make a donation? Just as a token of thanks to everybody. Maybe pay for some drinks. Let's say two hundred bucks."

"That'd be great," LT said warmly, making a note on the sheet of paper clipped to the board. "And how many tickets do you need, Castle?"

"Just the donation," Castle said with a smile. "Thanks, LT. Well, got to get back to all this paperwork." He winked at the three other men, noting Ryan's mouth was half-open, then he strode back to Beckett's desk. He could see that she had been watching and listening to the whole thing. He made a point of peering into her coffee cup, which was empty.

"I'll get us more coffee," he said brightly, picking up both cups and then immediately walking towards the break room.

Castle knew exactly when she came into the break room after him. He'd recognise the sound of her heels, and the unique rhythm of her footsteps, anywhere. He'd only been in there for a minute or so.

"You're not going to the thing?" she asked, with a casualness that anyone else would have completely believed. His back was to her because he was making their coffee, and he only gave a half-glance over his shoulder as he continued with the task.

"The thing?" he replied, equally casually.

"The ball."

"Oh," he said. "I'm just–"

 _Not kidding myself anymore. Saying uncle._

"–having a quieter Christmas this year."

His tone implied that the answer explained everything, even though he knew it only raised more questions. He could imagine the wrinkle between her eyebrows, even though his focus was still on the elaborate coffee machine.

"Quieter," she repeated, as if she was deciding whether she believed him.

He finished preparing their coffees, and picked up both cups, turning to face her. He handed hers over with a small smile.

"Everything OK, Castle?" she asked. "Not like you to miss a party."

Her tone was light and teasing, but he could see the puzzlement in her eyes. And she was right; it wasn't like him. He shrugged.

"Just not really in the mood for dancing," he replied.

 _Careful,_ his mind whispered, and he forced another breezy smile onto his lips, holding it for a moment before taking a sip of his coffee. Then he walked past her, and back out into the bullpen.


	2. Chapter 2

"So Javi said Castle donated two hundred bucks to the Christmas party," Lanie said carefully.

"Yeah," Beckett replied, feeling the same stirring of unease she'd already experienced several times today.

They were sitting in the coffee shop a block from the precinct, where they tended to meet on the rare occasion that their schedules allowed an impromptu break during the working day. It was late afternoon, and neither of them had much else to do besides paperwork. Beckett had coffee in front of her, and Lanie had hot chocolate.

"He _also_ said that Castle didn't buy a ticket," Lanie continued, now looking up at her friend.

"He's having a quieter Christmas this year," Beckett replied.

"Quieter?"

Beckett shrugged. "That's what he said." There was silence for a few moments before Lanie leaned forward slightly.

"And what does that mean, exactly?"

Beckett sighed, and shook her head. "I have no idea. I asked him. He just said he wasn't in the mood for dancing."

Lanie's left eyebrow shot up. "Mm-hmm. When it's a whole month away. And this is _Castle_ we're talking about; Mister Any-Excuse-To-Wear-A-Tux."

Beckett pursed her lips and frowned. "I don't know what to tell you. He said—"

"—that he's not in the mood," Lanie interrupted. "When _you_ asked him. About going to a ball, that you're gonna be at. That he could have asked _you_ to be his date for."

Beckett huffed in annoyance, taking a swallow of her coffee before putting the mug back down a little too forcefully. "What do you want me to say, Lanie?"

Lanie sat back in her chair, folded her arms, and gave Beckett her best _Girl, I'ma smack you_ look.

" _What_?" Beckett said, and Lanie rolled her eyes.

"You don't think that's just a little bit unusual."

Beckett broke eye contact for a moment, her gaze flicking down to the table top. She shrugged.

Lanie rolled her eyes again. "You don't think that's _really, really not like him at all_?"

Beckett met her friend's eyes again, and this time her own expression was of worry. "…I guess so, yeah."

"You guess so," Lanie said, her voice dripping with the frustrated sarcasm that always accompanied the topic of Beckett and Castle's behaviour towards each other.

"Well what do _you_ think it is?" Beckett asked, in an exaggeratedly casual tone of voice. She made a show of reaching for her coffee and taking another sip, as if they were just discussing the weather.

Now it was Lanie's turn to sigh, and she noticed that her friend looked up at her again, with the worried expression back in full force.

"What I think, girl," Lanie said, picking up her mug and looking across at Beckett through the wisps of steam that curled into the air from the surface of the hot liquid, "is that you oughtta find out."

* * *

Castle left the precinct for the day only fifteen minutes after Beckett had gone to meet Lanie for one of their occasional coffee breaks together. He'd bid a cheerful farewell to Ryan and Esposito without giving them time to draw him into a conversation, then disappeared down the stairwell instead of waiting for the elevator.

Beckett had been giving him periodic looks throughout the day. There had been a question in her eyes, and she was wearing her puzzling-out-a-case expression.

 _Good luck with that_ , he thought. He wasn't going to offer any more insight into his reasons for not attending the ball next month. He was free to do what he wanted, after all, and it was just a work-related social event. He wasn't under any obligation to make sure she wasn't the fifth wheel. If she wanted a date for the evening, she'd have no trouble finding someone else.

The thought made his pace slow for a moment, as he wove a path through pedestrians on the sidewalk, but then he made a point of speeding up again. A brief image of Demming flashed through his mind, and then of Josh Davidson. He didn't think she was still in touch with either of them, but he supposed that he didn't really know either way.

Still, he could picture it. Not that he needed to; he could remember seeing her with each of them. How relaxed and at ease she'd been. How willing to be seen like that, even in front of work colleagues. But if _he_ tried to do so much as keep his hand on the small of her back for more than a moment, he got a flinch and an irritated look, and she stepped away, quickly glancing around to check that no-one else had noticed.

 _I'm not chasing anymore_ , Castle thought, but the tension in his jaw quickly faded, to be replaced with a black mood that hung over him like the ominous-looking clouds above the city.

The temperature had dropped, and there were plenty of taxis around, but right now he just felt like walking.

* * *

Beckett returned to the precinct before 5PM, to find Castle gone. Ryan relayed the news that her partner apparently had some chores to take care of in town before dinner time, and had sent his apologies.

There wasn't much left of the working day, and a case hadn't come in, so Beckett busied herself with administrative work for half an hour or so before beginning to slowly pack up. She briefly considered going by the loft on her way home, but there was no telling whether he'd be back there yet, and she didn't want to call ahead to check. They just didn't do that kind of thing.

 _And he doesn't miss formal social occasions,_ she thought. _They're one of his favourite things._ Oh he certainly pretended to find them tiresome, but he was in his element when dressed to the nines and glad-handing, smiling and effortlessly charming.

For the tenth time that day, she tried to think if she'd done anything to annoy him before the subject of the ball came up, but it had literally been the first thing they'd talked about. So whatever was bothering him had to go further back. She tried to think if there had been anything over the weekend, but they'd only exchanged a couple of texts, and those were innocuous.

She frowned, and then shook her head. She could try to subtly interrogate him again tomorrow. On a whim, she took her phone out of her pocket and tapped out a quick message, and sent it.

With a brief glance towards the empty chair beside her desk, she shrugged on her coat and took her purse from the large drawer in her desk, then left the precinct.

* * *

Castle glanced around from his contemplation of the cityscape beyond his office window when he heard the chirp of a notification on his phone. He yawned, then turned from the window and retrieved the device from his desk, quickly unlocking it and bringing up the new message.

 _ **Hope you got everything done. See you tomorrow.**_

He thumbed the power button to lock the device and switch the screen off, then set the phone down on his desk. His hand remained on it for several moments, but eventually he straightened, and turned once more towards the window.


	3. Chapter 3

He didn't show up at the precinct on Tuesday.

It was just after 9AM when Beckett finally got a text from him, saying that he'd been called into Black Pawn for a series of meetings, and that it would take all day. She texted back immediately, pushing aside her annoyance and whatever other emotion the annoyance was just a convenient veneer for, and asked if he wanted to meet for lunch. He replied that they were putting on a working lunch at the publisher's office.

She didn't hear from him again that day. And not wanting to seem pushy or anything else, she hadn't contacted him again either.

* * *

When Wednesday morning arrived and she looked up from her computer at 08:48 to see Castle walking out of the elevator with two coffees in his hands, she felt her shoulders slacken with relief.

She watched silently as he approached, his gaze roaming around the bullpen but not settling on her until he reached her desk. He gave her a small smile and handed her one of the cups.

"Morning," he said, taking his usual seat.

"Morning," she replied. "Thanks. How'd it go yesterday?"

He only nodded, having just taken a mouthful of coffee. He swallowed the hot liquid, and then she expected him to complain about the meetings, or Gina, or Paula, or something else — but he didn't.

"Espo texted to say we got a case?" Castle asked, and she nodded. It had come in yesterday afternoon, and at this point they were checking alibis and background. She usually didn't update him on cases while he was at his occasional Black Pawn meetings, because she knew he'd skip out of them the first chance he got. She suspected that Esposito had picked up on her own subdued mood yesterday, and in his brotherly way was subtly prodding Castle to come into the precinct today after being away.

"The board is set up," she said. "I can bring you up to speed once Ryan gets back with the ballistics. Should be here any minute."

"OK," Castle replied, taking another sip of his coffee and not looking anywhere in particular. After several moments, Beckett decided to try again to find out what had prompted his odd behaviour two days earlier.

"So have you changed your mind yet about the ball?"

He paused with his cup halfway to his lips, and there was a noticeable moment of silence before he glanced up at her. "Uh, … why would I?"

"Because you're _Castle_ ," she said, raising an eyebrow. "You love stuff like that."

He broke eye contact to look down at his cup, then he shrugged. "Sometimes," he replied. "Not all the time."

She suppressed a sigh of frustration. It wasn't that she particularly wanted to get him to go, or so she insisted to herself. It was that she needed to know why he _didn't_ want to go. It was inconsistent, and she'd long ago learned that inconsistencies meant there were other important facts yet to be uncovered.

"Lanie and I are going dress shopping at the weekend," she said casually, half-turning in her seat to reach for her own coffee cup again.

Castle glanced towards her. "Great," he said, with enthusiasm he clearly didn't feel. She frowned. He'd set his cup down now, and she watched as he fished his phone out of his pocket.

"Well if you're really not going, I guess I'll have to find a date," she said, in a teasing tone that also held a hint of challenge.

He became still again, just for a moment, and seemed to gather himself. Then he gave her a cheerful smile. "I'm sure you'll have no trouble," he replied, then he focused his attention on his phone.

Beckett was stunned. _He actually wants me to go with somebody else?_ That was one hundred percent not normal Castle behaviour at all.

Without conscious thought, she reached out towards him and put her hand on his forearm, and he abruptly stopped whatever he was doing on his phone.

"Castle, are you _sure_ you're alright? You know that you can talk to me, right?"

Another brief pause. Then the same cheerful smile.

"I'm fine," he replied. "Never better. Is this still about the dance? What's the big deal?"

She frowned at him, pressing her lips together as she tried to get a read on what he was feeling, but the mask of his breezy demeanour was impenetrable. After a moment, she sighed and shook her head.

"No big deal," she said. "Just… it's not like you. That's all."

He gave a small laugh, his mouth curling into a wry grin. "Jeez. A guy's allowed to skip a night out once in a while, y'know."

She removed her hand from his arm, covering the move by picking up her coffee with both hands. "If you say so," she said, then she turned back to her computer.

There was still a line of tension across her brow, and when he glanced back up at her a few minutes later with a very different expression on his face, she was too absorbed in work to notice.

* * *

Castle exhaled in relief as he finally closed the dishwasher and pressed the button to start the cycle. Alexis had kissed him on the cheek and left the loft in a blur of orange hair only ten minutes after they'd finished dinner, and Martha had sent her excuses earlier, having bumped into an old theatre friend she wanted to catch up with.

It was a little after 7:30PM. Everything was tidied away, the kitchen surfaces had been wiped down, and he now had the evening to himself. He flicked on the coffee machine, and fetched a mug from the wooden tree on a worktop, sitting it nearby. Then he stretched, hearing his neck crack, and absent-mindedly ran his fingers through his hair, messing it up on top.

 _So she's worried. So what?_

All it meant was what she said: his behaviour was different than she'd come to expect. She was a born investigator, and it was no surprise that she was curious. But this time he wasn't going to help her solve the case.

 _I'm allowed to do — or not do — whatever I want_ , he thought.

Ultimately, she'd get annoyed with him and she'd stop asking. She'd find another date to the ball — _Like the first guy she asks, I bet_ — and then, well, that'd be that. He wouldn't say a word against it. He'd encourage her, even.

Because the one thing he was _not_ going to do anymore was chase her.

* * *

"This is stupid," Beckett muttered to herself.

But it wasn't, because something was off. Something was weird. Something was…

 _Wrong._

He just _didn't_ avoid a big night out, especially with his friends and colleagues from the precinct. He didn't pass up the chance to spend time with her outside of work. He never missed an opportunity to see her in a dress, for crying out loud. And to have a few drinks, and to _dance_? Unheard of.

Though, she had to admit that he'd been more careful around her lately. After those three months apart, and since she'd come back to the city. His smile had been muted at first, and then it had brightened only very slowly, as if it was on a dimmer switch being turned up notch by notch, day by day. But they'd got back to something like normal, hadn't they?

And then the strange vibe she'd had for a few days, a week or two ago, after he'd been off work with the flu. But she'd been sure it was just tiredness and the last of the illness. He'd said so himself, and he looked well enough again when he came back, except for the shadows under his eyes. But even those had cleared up again. Hadn't they?

He'd tell her if something was wrong. They were honest with each other.

A voice in her head laughed, and her cheeks flushed. _That's not true at all. We're not honest with each other. Maybe he's honest with me about most things, but I don't return the favour._

OK, so maybe they didn't talk about things as much as he'd like them to, but she was working towards that. She'd made a lot of progress. And he'd stood by her, patiently, just like always.

This whole thing with the ball was probably nothing. Maybe he'd change his mind anyway. And even if he didn't, it was just a ball.

 _I'm sure you'll have no trouble_ , he'd said. No trouble finding a date. He'd pretty much given his blessing — not that she needed it — to go with someone else.

 _So maybe he's seeing someone,_ her traitorous mind suggested, and immediately she remembered another summer, when Gina had walked into the precinct, and then back out again with Castle at her side.

"He'd have told me," Beckett said to the empty air.

 _Because you're honest with each other?_ her mind whispered, but she had no response to that.

A small chime sounded as the elevator slowed to a halt, and the doors opened. She stepped out, clenching her fists in her coat pockets, then she walked slowly along the hallway towards the red and silver door.


	4. Chapter 4

The quiet knock came as a surprise.

Castle glanced up, looking over at the door as if he could see through it and learn who was paying him a visit. He hadn't yet poured his coffee, and he suspected that he'd need to fetch a second cup to accompany the first. Squaring his shoulders, he walked over to the door, and opened it.

Beckett stood there, and she smiled at him, but there was something tentative about it. "Hey," she said.

"Do I need to get my coat?" he asked, and she shook her head. He looked at her for a moment, then stood aside to allow her to enter. She smiled again, and walked past him into the loft, immediately shedding her jacket and hanging it in the closet near the door.

"Coffee?" he asked, walking straight over to the kitchen area without looking back. "Just made some."

"That'd be great, thanks," she replied, and he heard the sound of her approaching footsteps.

Beckett perched herself at the breakfast bar a short distance from where Castle was busying himself with preparing their beverages, watching him as he completed the task without conscious thought. When he was done, he set one cup down in front of her, and she nodded in thanks. He took his own cup and moved around to one of the stools that bordered the breakfast bar on the other side. They were on opposite sides of the high countertop, and about six feet away from each other. They both sipped their coffees in silence for a moment, and then Castle looked over at her.

"So, any special reason for the visit?"

"You tell me," she replied, and he frowned in confusion.

"How would _I_ know why you're here?"

She resisted the overpowering urge to roll her eyes, then quirked an eyebrow at him. "I mean, there's something going on with you. You've been weird lately."

Castle sighed. "If this is about the ball again—"

"Which is definitely weird, for you," she interrupted, setting her coffee cup down. "Everybody says so."

"Can we stop talking about this?" he replied wearily. "Monday, this morning, and now you come over here tonight. What's the big deal?"

She shrugged. "It's just… off. Something's not right with you. I want to know what's going on, that's all." She tried to keep her tone even, as if it was a casual request. She watched his face, and saw his expression go blank. He sat back slightly on his stool.

"There's nothing going on," he said. "Nothing's wrong." His tone was open and neutral; carefully so. She frowned.

"Have… I done something?" she asked, breaking eye contact for an instant before meeting his eyes again.

 _Danger,_ Castle's mind said.

 _No kidding_ , he thought. Because no, she hadn't done anything. She hadn't allowed him to get closer to her. She hadn't told the truth. She hadn't so much as acknowledged what he'd said that day, months ago. She hadn't given him the courtesy of the truth. She hadn't even clarified whether she wanted there to be a next step.

"You know very well that you haven't done anything, Beckett," he said calmly, "because there's nothing wrong. Nothing's changed."

 _DANGER_ , his mind said again, more insistently.

She was looking at him carefully, but he'd kept any emotional inflection out of his words. He didn't seem to be making any kind of point, or veiled reference. But she didn't buy it. She took another mouthful of her coffee, and decided to try a different approach. She gave him a half-smile.

"You really going to make me go to this thing without my partner, Castle?"

He blinked. "We've never been to a cop ball together before. What's different about this one?"

She flushed, covering it with another swallow of coffee. What was different was that this was the first one they actually _could_ go to together. Because there was no-one else that she was seeing, and because they'd been through so much, and just… he should know all this. He should know all this already.

 _So tell him you want him to be there,_ her mind said, in a voice that sounded very much like Lanie's. _Just tell him that._

"Nothing," she said, shrugging again. "It's just kind of the done thing."

Castle picked up his own coffee cup, looking down at the dark liquid for a moment. "That's for plus-ones," he said. "Esposito and Lanie; Ryan and Jenny." He looked back up just in time to see the moment of panic in her eyes before she looked down at the countertop.

 _And that's pretty much what I expected,_ he thought. Instead of finding it frustrating or disappointing, though, he felt only weariness. He had no interest in labouring the point. There was nothing to be won here. So, he decided to let her off the hook, by doing exactly what she always did: feigning ignorance.

"Look, I don't know why you're hung up on this, but there's nothing wrong," he said. "You already see me every day at the precinct; you don't need me hanging around at the other stuff too. You should go to the thing. You'll have fun."

Beckett was looking at him again now, searching his face for clues as to what he was thinking. She had the unsettling feeling that she was in a standoff here, and that she was perilously unaware of the stakes. She very much wanted to take him at his word, but her instincts were sounding a wordless alert.

 _He's always the one who does this stuff,_ she thought, suddenly irritated at him. He was supposed to push. He was supposed to ask her to the ball as soon as he knew it was happening. He was supposed to ask, and then she would make some remark about already seeing enough of him as it is, and then he would say something flirtatious or suggestive and push some more, and she'd sidestep again, and eventually he'd maybe pretend to be hurt, or he'd threaten to do something like ask Gates to the ball instead, and she'd make a show of conceding just to keep him out of trouble, and then they'd go together. The balance would be maintained, just like always. That's how they did things; he _knew_ that that was how they did things.

She kept the annoyance from her face and voice with significant effort, and shrugged.

"Maybe I will," she said, and after a moment, Castle nodded. For some reason, it was the last straw for her. She got up from the stool and pushed it back in under the counter. "Thanks for the coffee," she said, then she turned and walked across to the closet to retrieve her jacket.

"That's it?" Castle asked from behind her, confusion evident in his voice. She was already pulling her jacket on, and made only a brief glance in his direction. He had stood up now too, and was walking cautiously towards the entrance area.

"I just wanted to check my _partner_ was OK. Like you said, you're fine. I've got some stuff to do."

Castle felt the first thread of annoyance twisting through him, mixed with an unpleasant feeling of guilt that he knew was only a further example of the kind of passive behaviour that landed him in this limbo in the first place. His anger at himself added to the turmoil inside him, and he was speaking before he made a conscious decision.

"What exactly is it you want from me?" he asked, his tone suddenly confrontational and louder than normal. Beckett had her hand on the handle of the front door, and when she turned around, he could see two points of colour in her cheeks. Her lips were a fine line.

They stared at each other for several seconds before she replied.

"Nothing, Castle," she said. "Nothing at all."

The loft echoed with the sound of the door slamming closed behind her.


	5. Chapter 5

It was the second morning this week that he hadn't shown up at the precinct, and she wasn't surprised. She couldn't blame him either.

Beckett forced herself to stop watching the elevator doors once 9AM had come and gone, and as each successive hour of the morning passed, she became more and more aware that she'd overreacted last night.

 _Trying to make him tell me why he's been acting weird, and I end up just pushing him away even more. Stupid, Kate._

By the time lunch was over, she was getting twitchy, and both Esposito and Ryan told her point-blank to go and do whatever it is she needed to do, because she wasn't going to get anything done at work until then. She began to protest, but Ryan's raised eyebrows stopped her, and instead she thanked them and then grabbed her coat.

Twenty-five minutes later, she was once again in the elevator of Castle's building, ascending. She had two coffees in a cup holder clutched in one hand, and she was holding her phone in the other, trying to decide whether to call first. Honestly, she was afraid that he wouldn't answer. The elevator reached the top floor, and she decided to just turn up unannounced for the second time in twenty-four hours. She'd already come this far.

 _Let's try this again_ , she thought.

* * *

At first, Castle thought he was imagining things. The same knock, but at only a little before 2PM. He seriously considered just ignoring it, but he'd already stood up from his desk and begun walking through towards the living room area, and over to the entranceway.

 _Still haven't learned how to say no to her_ , he thought.

He opened the door, and there she was again. Kate Beckett stood there, with a look of apprehension on her face, and perhaps also a hint of apology. She gave him a small smile. When he didn't say anything, she raised the cup holder ever so slightly.

"I brought you coffee," she said. "Figured I owed you some."

He looked at her for a moment longer, then he once again stood aside to allow her to enter. She nodded in thanks, and walked slowly past him, into his home. Once Castle had closed the door and turned to face her, she took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry about last night," she said. "I… I shouldn't have reacted the way I did. I'm sorry I left so abruptly."

Castle shifted his stance slightly, but he didn't say anything. She took it as a cue to continue, even though she hadn't planned what she was going to say.

"Uh, and I'm sorry I've been bugging you about the ball. If you don't want to go, that's fine. It's none of my business."

 _But it could've been_ , he thought.

"So… I brought this as a peace offering," she said, again indicating the two cups of coffee she held. "I just want to make sure we're… OK."

There was a question in her voice, and he frowned a little at the sudden uncertainty in her. No matter what his current feelings were, it pained him to be the source of any concern on her part. He knew very well that she did rely on him, and needed him as a friend, and that she was disproportionately afraid of losing people who were close to her. So, he decided to give her a break. Going easy on her here would at least help things get back to normal.

"Seems we're both acting a little unlike ourselves lately," he said thoughtfully, and she looked down at the floor and shrugged.

 _It's an opening_ , Beckett thought. _First one in a while. Use it or lose it, Kate._

"Unlike we usually act, or unlike we really feel?" she asked, her eyes flicking up to meet his.

Castle's eyebrows shot up. That statement was very unusual for her. Even acknowledging that there was a dichotomy at all between their inner selves and how they behaved around each other was almost unprecedented. He'd meant to shut the subject down, but she'd stumbled far too close to the heart of it.

She took a few steps to close the distance between them, and then handed him one of the cups of coffee.

"Thanks," he said. "And… I'm not sure what you mean."

"Why not?" she asked, taking a sip of her own beverage without breaking eye contact. She watched as he opened his mouth, and then closed it again.

"Because… we don't do this," she said. Not a question, but he heard one anyway. She closed her eyes. "Because _I_ don't do this."

Castle tilted his head to one side in a wordless gesture that could have meant several different things. Not an answer, but clear nonetheless.

She nodded.

Castle ran the fingers of his free hand through his own hair, and exhaled audibly. "Listen, let's forget about all that. I appreciate the coffee; apology accepted." He gave her a smile, and raised the cup in her direction briefly before taking another drink from it.

Beckett was still watching him. _But it's not OK, is it? Because there's still something. Whatever it was that changed when I wasn't looking. Or maybe when I was._ And now that she was paying attention, it was so apparent. It was around his eyes, and in his stance, and even in his tone of voice when he spoke to her. It was in his gaze, and in how he moderated his responses now. When had that happened? Had it been days, or weeks? Her pulse quickened.

"LT brought the tickets around today," she said, unaware that the words were going to come out of her mouth until she heard them spoken aloud. She saw his eyes flutter shut for a moment before they opened again.

"That's… good," he said, quickly taking another sip of coffee. "How's the case going?"

She didn't answer, because suddenly she wasn't sure of anything any more. Suddenly it seemed very important indeed to figure out what was going on with him.

"Are you coming back to work tomorrow?" she asked, both hands clasping the coffee mug now. The uncertainty in her voice hit him in the chest like a physical blow, and he averted his gaze and sighed.

"I've just been catching up on some writing, Ka… Beckett."

The verbal stumble was ill-timed, and he shifted uncomfortably. He chanced a look up at her, and immediately regretted it. She was standing absolutely still, with tension in her shoulders, and her eyes were wide and dark. She looked spooked.

Beckett's thoughts were a jumble. There was something very definitely wrong with him, and nothing had been resolved. He was… withdrawing, for some reason, and she seemed to be helping make it happen. She automatically reached towards him, and saw him stiffen. She hesitated, but then she laid her hand on the arm he held his cup with.

"I… Castle, if it's something I've done, I'm sorry." Her voice was a little higher now. "I'm not pushing. I know what you said yesterday. But… something's different. If you just tell me what it is, I can try to fix it."

"I'm pretty sure we did this part last night," he said quietly.

She pressed her lips together, suppressing something that was as much concern as frustration. "It's _not_ nothing," she replied, equally quietly.

"Still about the ball?" he asked, and she shook her head.

"Nope. Said I wasn't gonna bug you about it anymore. If I have to be fifth wheel, then that's how it'll be. I just want to know what's going on."

"That's emotional blackmail," he said, but there was no anger in his voice. She dropped her hand from his forearm and gave the barest hint of a shrug, and Castle sighed.

He took another sip of his coffee and then walked off towards the kitchen area, setting the cup down on the counter. Beckett's eyes tracked him the whole way. He went around the island, and then stood facing her from across the room, palms flat on the smooth surface. It was like a repeat performance of the previous night.

"You're really asking?" he said, and she nodded even though she felt her pulse accelerate again.

"OK," he replied. "Then… it's like I asked you last night."

Her keen mind replayed their abortive conversation the night before, and the only unaddressed question had been his last remark, just as she left.

"You asked… what I want from you?" she replied, and Castle simply nodded patiently.

Beckett shifted her weight from one foot to the other, glancing down at her coffee cup. "I'm not sure what you mean," she said, going for a breezy tone and not quite managing it. A tide of panic was rising in her chest, and she was acutely aware that she was on his home turf. "Are we, uh, talking about… at work, because—"

And then suddenly it was all too much for him. It was the perfect display of the entire problem: even here, after a confrontation, when they were alone together and not going to be interrupted, and even after a direct question, she still dissembled. She knew something was wrong, and she still evaded. Round and round and round they go.

"I'm not in the mood for dancing, Kate," he said, cutting across her. Her eyes snapped up to meet his, and the spooked expression was back on her face.

Her instinct was to escape, immediately, but she forced herself to remain stationary. A picture was beginning to emerge, and it was one she'd wilfully ignored for a long time. _But why now?_

"Castle…" she said, but she didn't know what her next words should be.

"The day on the swings was a long time ago," he said, his eyes now focused on the countertop in front of him. He thought he heard an intake of breath from across the room, but he didn't let it stop him. "And it was at the end of three of the longest months of my life."

"I was—" she began, but again he cut her off.

"I know. And I understood. At least, as much as I could, because you're right that you don't _do_ this. But I do. This is all I do. Communicate. Except with you, because I don't know what's going to draw you out, and what's going to make you run and hide."

She stood absolutely still, watching him even though he hadn't looked up.

"And you confuse the hell out of me," he continued, shaking his head as he huffed a small sigh. "You say you'll be fifth wheel at this thing, but what you want is for _me_ to ask, and have our little duel, and then you agree on your terms, and off we go as the best of friends, again."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he seemed to sense it and he'd already given a dismissive flick of his hand, still without looking up at her.

"Which we _are_ , of course, but that's not the whole story. That wasn't the whole story on the swings — at least the parts I could understand. But we don't talk. We don't _do_ this. Meanwhile, I'm your partner, and your friend, and…" — he sighed again, searching for the right expression — "… and the funniest kid in school."

"You think that's how I see you?" she asked, her voice breathy and unsteady, and she actually flinched when he shrugged, both his hands again pressed against the countertop.

" _Thinking_ is all I _can_ do," he said. "And waiting. God knows I've done a lot of that, and I know, I chose to. I don't regret it. What I said still goes; I'm going to be here for you. But what exactly do you expect from me?"

He glanced up at her now, and the look in his eyes made her feel like she'd been pinned to the wall.

"Because I'm tired of dancing, Kate, and I have been for a long time, but I could live with it. I could keep going. I could do it, if…"

Beckett was certain that her hands were shaking, but she clasped her palms around the coffee cup as if it were a lifeline.

 _It actually happened_ , her mind whispered. She's always known it was a possibility — that he'd get tired of waiting — but it happened so suddenly. And he was never this direct. He never called her out on her… on the way she was. _Oh god_.

"If?" she replied, her voice barely audible in the large, open area, but he heard her nonetheless. She watched as Castle's eyes slid closed and he took several breaths, clearly with considerable effort. A moment later, he opened them again, and this gaze was one she never wanted to see again.

"If you hadn't been lying to me all along."

The accusation fell into the room like a stone. Her mind scrambled to process his words, but she could see the truth of it on his face. He knew. Somehow, he knew. And not just today. Her mouth fell open, and the coffee cup finally slipped from her hands and fell, colliding with the floor a long moment later. Improbably, perfectly, and somehow utterly appropriately, the cup had fallen directly downwards and landed on its base, the lid staying on and only the barest small splash of dark liquid coming up out of the rounded opening and onto the white plastic surface. She didn't even notice.

" _Castle_ —"

"Bobby Lopez. I was behind the glass," he said, watching as her mind served up the details of her mistake almost immediately. He watched in a mix of guilt, shame, and grim satisfaction as her face crumpled and her right hand flew up to cover the point on her chest where he knew the scar lay.

He looked down at his own coffee cup again, shut his eyes, then rubbed his hand across his face.

"Now," he said, his voice flat and tired, "I really think it's time you were going."


	6. Chapter 6

_**Author's Note:**_ _Late night here. A brief bonus scene._

* * *

Beckett reeled where she stood, somehow managing to retain her balance. Her thoughts were scrambled, and for some reason the first thing she did was crouch down and pick up the dropped coffee cup before standing up again.

Her cheeks were flushed and her pulse pounded through her ears, and she could feel the familiar edges of an anxiety attack creeping up her chest, but she steeled herself and forced it down and away. All the breath had been knocked out of her, and her mind was just a constant, voiceless alert.

Castle looked up after a moment, and nodded at her as if she'd confirmed something.

"I need some time," he said roughly. "I know I don't need to explain that to you. And you're going to _give_ me time, because I always did when you asked."

She opened her mouth, unsure whether she was trying to speak or just to breathe, but he shook his head.

" _No_ , Kate. I said what I should've said a while ago, and I'm sorry I didn't bring it up sooner, but I'm not ready to talk about this. You don't get to set the timetable."

She made a sound that was perhaps a gasp and perhaps the crest of a sob, and her large eyes had a liquid quality, but her cheeks were dry. Castle wasn't surprised. She was strong — at least in some ways.

She took a step forward. "But—"

" _Beckett_ ," he said, and this time there was a unmistakeable warning in his tone. He took a loud breath, then gathered his self-control once again. When he continued, his voice was quieter. "There's only one way this goes if we do it now."

Her gaze fell to the floor between them.

"Three months, and everything since," he said. "And then a couple of years before that. I waited. Over the summer, it killed me every day. But I did it. You need to think about that very carefully right now."

She could hear the tightly-leashed anger in him, and it both horrified and fascinated her. Her stomach twisted with guilt at the idea that he'd held all this inside for so long, hidden behind a mask of gentle patience and good humour, in his hope for what the two of them might become. Or might _have_ become.

"OK," she whispered, her voice unable to produce any more volume. She blinked away the tears that were beginning to gather on her eyelashes, and looked over at him, but his eyes were focused on the backs of his own hands, laid out on the countertop that he stood behind. Another barrier between them.

 _What have I done?_ she thought.

Then, even though she felt the scar on her chest burn more deeply with each step, she walked quickly across to the front door, opened it, and left without another word.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Author's Note:** OK, let's really try with this one. Fanfic is a pleasant distraction for me, but some parts of a story deserve the real stuff, whether you're getting paid or not._

* * *

Two weeks, three days. And counting.

The second week was the hardest. So far, anyway.

Beckett's routine had become robotic. Wake at 6:30AM unless she'd had an earlier call, and into the precinct by 07:45. Take a half hour for lunch at 1PM, during which she walked through the city without really noticing any of the thousands of people all around her. Work til 8PM. Go home. Have a bath, or maybe watch some TV. Go to bed before 11PM, and hope sleep came before long.

There were the crying sessions too. At home, and once in the women's restrooms at the precinct, safely hidden away in a stall. That one was at the start of the second week. She didn't cry in front of others, though. Not in front of Lanie, not in front of Ryan and Esposito, and not even in front of Dr. Burke, who said that while she was right to obey Castle's demand for time in the short term, there would also come a point when they would both benefit from confronting their feelings together. Beckett accepted the advice, but all she could think of was what Castle had said when she last saw him.

 _There's only one way this goes if we do it now._

And so she hadn't called, or texted, or turned up at his door. Hadn't gone anywhere near the Old Haunt. Hadn't emailed, or written. In the middle of the second week she'd checked his social media presence, but he'd said nothing at all there since before they last spoke.

Officially, he was catching up on overdue chapters, after being told to do so in no uncertain terms by Gina and Paula. That was the story she'd told Ryan and Esposito too, even though she knew they didn't believe it, and they knew that she knew. But they were her brothers, and so they let it be. She had made it clear to them that Castle wasn't to be disturbed, and they had understood the meaning if not the reasons behind it.

At night, when she went to bed and lay there awake in the dark, she'd sometimes pick up her phone and flick through the photos she'd kept on the device. Candid, goofy shots, mostly; Castle smirking at something, or playing a game on his own phone, or standing at the murder board. There was one she'd taken from the bullpen — with the shutter sound-effect silenced, of course — through the doorway of the break room, showing him facing away from her as he busied himself making coffee for the two of them. Sleeves rolled up, shoulders and back blocking most of the elaborate espresso machine from view, relaxed and at ease. Somehow, that photo was the most poignant one. It was the most ordinary of moments, taken completely for granted at the time, and she wasn't sure what quirk of mood had prompted her to capture it at all. It was a photo she could have taken multiple times per day, on almost any day of their years of working together.

But not now.

She had spent a lot of time thinking lately. Too much time, probably, and it was amazing just how quickly the truth of it all was laid bare, in the obviousness of retrospection. Things tended to be clearest only afterwards; at the time, they were shrouded in complication and nuance, possibility and ambiguity. But afterwards, they became abruptly simpler, with every extraneous detail revealed to be trivial and unimportant.

Like the essential truth that she'd roped him into being her accomplice in slowing down the rate of change in her life. That their unspoken understanding — their dance, as he'd probably say now — was a holding pattern that allowed him to hope, and her to hide. That it was fundamentally unhealthy, and that it had gone past the limits of therapeutic recovery quite a while ago. That she'd felt trapped, at first by her injuries and the trauma that went along with them, and then by his confession, and ultimately by her own lie. That she was deferring facing these real issues, by dressing them up as part of older ones. As part of a wall that, while real, had become a completely permeable barrier where he was concerned. A wall that was brick to everyone else, but smoke to not just him, but her too. Smoke that he could walk through, if she allowed him, to join her inside — or that she could equally walk out of to meet him.

The most obvious thing, though, and the most painful, was the truth which everyone else had long since realised: she loved him. The idea of _not_ loving him, of not being _in_ love with him, was now ridiculous and unimaginable. She wasn't sure exactly when the physics of it had flipped, but now it was simply impossible to imagine it ever being any other way. It was the truth, and she knew how to recognise truth when she found it.

She felt like the world's biggest fool, and she had no-one to blame but herself. She _knew_ what he was like — or at least, what he'd been like since not long after he met her, once he'd _decided_ on her. Faithful, devoted, dauntless — but taking her lead, because to do anything else would make her shut him out. Waiting patiently, even after three months of silence when what he most needed was to be able to help her heal, and make her laugh, and make her believe that she would be strong again. He had physically _needed_ to do that because it was an intrinsic part of his character and his heart, but she hadn't allowed it. So he had probably lain awake, like this, for one week and then two, and then three and then four, and then all the rest. Now she knew, just a little, what it must have felt like.

Then, finally, her lie — and how she confessed it to a suspect, almost casually, to get the upper hand. Oh, there was no question that Castle was right to feel what he was feeling now. No surprise that, after four years, she had finally managed to push him far enough to make the gentle, humorous, reasonable, and accommodating man finally armour himself, and throw her out of his home and his life. In a strange way, and in the rare moments when she could briefly look objectively at his position, she was even wistfully proud of him for it. Perhaps it would be a lesson, and would help him avoid more pain in the future.

In the end, all these realisations had come easily, and with the harsh clarity of not knowing what you have until it's gone. Months of therapy, years of questions, and decades of building barriers — but the answers ultimately needed only the shock of loss to make themselves clear. It was all laid bare, in black and white, in hardly any time at all. Two weeks, three days.

And counting.

* * *

Today was Saturday, or as she couldn't help but think of it, the _third_ Saturday. Beckett had made tentative plans to meet Lanie for dinner, but her friend was still finalising her own weekend, and would call later to confirm, but Beckett knew she had to get out of her apartment regardless.

It was almost 11AM, and the November morning was bright, clear, and cold. She was bundled up against the temperature, her gloved hands pushed into her coat pockets as she walked along the busy sidewalk, focusing on nothing but her breathing. She'd been walking for more than half an hour, letting her feet take her where they may, and the sound of a nearby car horn brought back some awareness of her surroundings.

 _The park is just up there_ , she thought. Across the street and one further block along, there was the little park with the swings. There was also the bookshop, though she'd avoided those completely since… well, since a few weeks ago. And of course, there was also the coffee shop.

She knew that Castle was a regular at more than one place during the working week, depending on whether he was collecting coffee on his way to meet her at a crime scene, or bringing coffee to the precinct. This street wasn't particularly near the loft, but it wasn't far from work, and the coffee shop up ahead was where he collected their drinks on so many mornings.

She felt the emotions rise up in her quickly — it had been happening much more often lately — and she considering turning around and walking away. But another part of her, a more insistent part, wanted some small measure of connection with him. She could at least buy her own coffee, as she'd had to during these dark weeks, and then think of him. She resumed her slow pace.

The universe is vast, and strange, and its moods are obscure — but it is not random. It has a certain perverse sense of humour. And so, it was inevitable that as she came within a couple of doors of the coffee shop, its own door opened, and a man stepped out and began to walk away from her. He was tall, and his hair was dark, and he wore a long coat of navy blue wool. He carried a cup of coffee, and his gait was so very like Castle's that for a moment, it physically pained her. She watched the man as he moved farther away from her along the sidewalk, approaching the next junction. It was hardly surprising that she imagined she was seeing him everywhere. It was how things worked. The mind, having lost something, tries too hard to find it again.

The universe is infinitely complex, and indifferent to small concerns — but it is not cruel. It has an inscrutable agenda. And so, it was inevitable that when the man reached the corner of the junction, clearly intending to cross diagonally, and when he turned to glance up and down the street to check for traffic, she saw that it was, in fact, Castle. All the breath flew out of her in a single gasp.

Even at this distance, she could see that he looked like hell. He wore only a blue t-shirt under his winter coat, instead of a button-down shirt. He had several days' beard growth on his face, and his eyes had dark circles under them. He even looked a little thinner in the face.

He lifted his coffee cup to take a sip, and then he lifted his other, empty hand and looked at it briefly. Then he stepped off the sidewalk and quickly crossed to the other side, before continuing on his way. When he reached the nearest entrance to the park, he hesitated for a moment, then he headed inside.

He hadn't seen her, not least because she shrank against the window of a small bakery as soon as she recognised him. She stood completely still for another few seconds, locked in wordless debate with herself. She could turn around and leave. She could get the coffee she'd decided on earlier, and leave. She could just keep walking, staying safely on this side of the street and keeping her head down. She could hail a cab.

The universe offers endless options, and its inhabitants have absolute free will — but only within the framework of its narrative. Some paths are illusions, and sometimes, there is only one choice.

She ran.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Author's Note:**_ _I'm in the "finally, he's not being a pushover anymore" camp — but just because it's more fun to write, and to read. Yes, he has his own secrets, and he wasn't blameless, but this is just one possible tale. You can write your version too. I'll be glad to read it._

 _Three months of sudden silence is a hell of a long time, when you think about it. Imagine what that'd do to you. They didn't even begin to explore it realistically on the show, where everyone acted like it had been about three weeks instead._

 _Having said that, what I also think is that after a certain point, you'd need to give yourself a break — even if it means giving the other person a break too. It's just a question of human endurance; it's finite. I think that most accords probably start with fatigue, not maturity and resolution. And maybe that's just fine._

* * *

Castle walked into the park, giving only the barest glance towards the area with the swings and other children's play equipment. He wouldn't be going there today. It was an empty place now.

Once, it had been somewhere he occasionally came to recharge; to refuel his hope and tenacity. He would go there to remind himself of what he was fighting for, every day, as he showed her how he felt without saying it, and gave her the space and time she said she needed. He went there to anchor himself in his vision of the future. But he would not be going there today.

There was a bench not far away, and he headed towards it, for a lack of anything better to do. He sat down, and after a moment he looked up into the sky. Clear, blue, cold, and equally empty. He closed his eyes, and let the sunlight just soak into his face for several long moments. Then he lowered his head and propped it against his free hand, elbow on his knee, with his palm covering his eyes.

* * *

Beckett slowed as she reached the entrance to the park, as much from the emotional effect of being back at this place as her need to see the man she was pursuing. She took a fortifying breath and then cautiously proceeded inside.

Her first instinct was to go over and search the play park, but she immediately realised it was unnecessary; Castle was only fifty feet or so away, sitting on a bench alongside a stretch of trees, his head resting in one hand. Beckett felt her pulse race in her chest, and she began walking towards him.

She came to a stop when she was still about twenty feet away, watching him indecisively, her heart breaking all over again in her chest. He looked both older than his years but also like a lost little boy, beaten and dispirited. He had no idea she was there. She moved closer.

He lifted his head slightly, eyes still closed, and moved his hand down to rasp across the stubble on his cheeks. He yawned, and then sighed deeply.

Beckett was standing just to the side of the bench now. When she spoke, it was in a whisper.

" _Castle_ ," she said.

His head snapped up, and he looked haunted. He had clearly just been thinking about her, and now here she was, standing before him. He blinked, looking her up and down as if not believing the evidence of what he saw.

"I was passing by the coffee shop," she said, by way of explanation. "I was going to go in. I saw you."

Castle only looked at her, not speaking. He'd clearly been badly startled by her sudden appearance. Beckett dropped her gaze for a moment before meeting his eyes again.

"Mind if I sit down?" she asked, and after a moment he gave the barest gesture towards the empty area of the bench. She nodded, then approached slowly and sat down beside him, less than an arm's length away.

They sat in silence for a few moments, both looking out at the park around them. Beckett turned to look at him, and saw that he was still facing straight ahead. It was so strange to see him unshaven, and she felt a powerful urge to reach out, and find some way to comfort him. Her own guilt twisted in her gut, knowing that it was her actions — or her inaction — that had brought him to the dark place he was obviously in right now.

"I miss you," she said quietly, and apparently that was enough to bring her emotions surging back up to the surface, because she immediately had to gulp back a sob and take a deep breath.

Castle quickly looked around at her, concern evident on his face, and she averted her eyes. "You look thinner," he said, after a moment. His voice was rough, like he hadn't used it in a while.

"So do you," she replied, and she saw him frown, as if he wasn't even aware of the changes in himself. "And you look like you haven't been sleeping well."

This time, he just shrugged. "You've got to eat, Kate," he said. "You can't just live on coffee."

"Says the only one of us with coffee," she said, trying to inject a levity she didn't feel into her tone. She heard him huff in response, but it was a tired sound. He looked used-up, and his eyes were more grey than blue.

Beckett took a breath, her gaze still restlessly taking in every detail of him. His hair was a little messy, and combined with the stubble and the t-shirt it was a good look for him. Her fingers twitched as she again had the urge to reach out. She just wished that the lines in his face didn't look so pronounced, and that his skin wasn't so pale. She turned on the bench, angling herself towards him.

"This is hurting both of us," she said quietly. "I deserve it, but you don't. You're not taking care of yourself, Rick."

His head turned reflexively in her direction, just slightly and for a brief moment, at the sound of his first name. "I'm fine," he said. He didn't sound like he believed it, and she pressed her lips together for a moment.

"We both know that's not true," she replied, clasping her hands in her lap. She willed him to look at her, and after another moment, she was surprised when he did. It hurt her so much to see the caution and defensiveness in his eyes and in his posture. He was watchful, drawing into himself, and his face was a mask of grim weariness. She felt something in her chest twist painfully, and in that moment, she made a decision.

Leaning towards him, she laid a gloved hand over his empty hand, where it rested on his thigh. "It's almost lunch. Let's just go someplace. Then we both know we're at least getting a decent meal. We don't have to talk if you don't want to. Please."

He looked at her with indecision all over his face. His eyes had flickered when she put her hand over his, even though she was wearing her burgundy leather gloves, and she knew that he always worried about whether she was feeding herself properly. She took it as a good sign that he hadn't pulled back, or walked away yet.

"Lunch," he said, as if he was trying the idea out; testing it to see how it felt. She nodded twice quickly, her large eyes still fixed upon him. Several seconds passed in silence, as he looked at her and seemed to perform an inventory of every inch of her face.

"OK," he said at last, and she squeezed his hand before releasing it. Castle sighed heavily, drawing another worried look from her, then he put his barely-touched coffee down on the bench and slowly stood up, jamming his hands into his coat pockets. Beckett stood up too, taking a half-step towards him.

The path that the bench sat slightly back from stretched off for some distance, skirting a large area of grass. By unspoken agreement, they both turned away from the direction they'd come in, neither of them wanting to see the swings again today. He began to walk, and she fell into pace beside him, her shoulder brushing against his upper arm every few steps.

She glanced up at him, and she could see that he noticed, but he didn't meet her gaze. She could see his breath pluming out in front of him in the chilled air. He looked cold, and the two points of colour in his cheeks stood out too brightly against his skin.

After another few metres, she hooked her arm into his, locking herself against his side, and resolutely kept walking. She felt his stride falter briefly, and then even out again. He didn't say anything, but nor did he pull away.


	9. Chapter 9

The cafe was still relatively quiet, but it would start to fill up for the lunchtime rush soon. They were shown to a table in the front corner at the window. It held a solitary pink flower in a tiny vase, and the salt and pepper shakers were two little ceramic people, fitted together in a hug.

Beckett saw Castle noticing the objects, and once they'd ordered coffee to start and the waitress had walked away again, he took his phone from his pocket and quickly snapped a photo. He looked up at her and she raised an eyebrow in a silent question, then he shrugged.

"It's a good detail," he said, slightly apologetically. "I can use it."

 _Richard Castle_ , she thought, sitting down in her chair a little more heavily than she intended. It was so easy to forget that he wasn't just _Castle_ from the precinct, and from the loft, and Alexis' father, and Martha's son. Her partner, her friend, her staunch companion and tireless supporter. Her childlike jester and ardent suitor, all in one. But he was also _the_ Richard Castle. Bestselling novelist. Creator of Derrick Storm.

 _And Nikki Heat_.

He'd written all the books that had been her comfort — and maybe even her salvation — after her mother died, and then he'd created a character _based_ on her, and dedicated those books to her, and fallen in love with her, and told her so.

And she had pushed him away, and lied to him, and he'd found out and it had obviously crushed him, and now here he was, after sending her away and out of his life so he could recover, but his face was thinner and his jaw was covered in stubble, and he wasn't sleeping well, and he looked utterly lost and broken.

Beckett had temporarily forgotten how to breathe. She'd never stepped back and thought of it in that way before — she couldn't, because it painted an intolerable picture of an incredibly foolish and self-absorbed woman who squandered an unbelievable, once-in-a-lifetime, and almost fairytale opportunity to finally find happiness.

Her eyes flicked up to look at him again, and she saw that he was focused on the salt and pepper shakers. There was a line of tension on his brow, and he looked somehow sad and anxious all at once, and in that moment she knew — _knew_ , without a shadow of a doubt — that he hadn't written a word in the last several weeks either. He'd lost even that outlet for how he was feeling; something so essential to who he was.

The feeling in her chest now was panic. All through these torturous last couple of weeks she'd been thinking of him as the man she knew, and the man she'd come to trust, and the man she held such deep feelings for. It was only now that it all really came together for her and she consciously acknowledged the other side of him, that had called to her long before she knew him. Richard Castle, bestselling novelist. _Castle_ , partner and friend and defender and father and son. And… Rick, who she'd only really allowed to exist for her in the last few months, privately, and entirely within her mind. All three were the same person; the man sitting right here in front of her, avoiding her gaze. How close she'd come to losing him entirely. How easily she still might.

She could feel her pulse thudding in her sternum, and goosebumps broke out along her arms. They had both hung their coats on the rack back at the cafe's entrance, and Castle's bare arms were now laid across the bright, chequered tablecloth, the hundreds of dark hairs standing out in contrast against his tan skin. His right index finger slowly drew patterns that she couldn't decipher, and somehow it was this tiny and unimportant detail that was finally too much.

She reached forward and clasped his right hand between both of hers, gripping tightly and holding on, compelling him to look at her.

* * *

Castle flinched when she suddenly took his hand in hers, slender and cool fingers twining around his much larger and warmer digits. The pressure of her grip was surprising too; it was urgent, and there was something desperate about it. He felt a wave of too-familiar feelings rising up.

 _Longing. Hope. Need. Desire. Love._

 _Betrayal. Rejection. Anger. Bitterness. Despair._

They overlapped each other, shifting from moment to moment, blending and separating and blending again; an inseparable mess of emotions that only churned his insides and left him feeling scrambled, and stunned, and detached. He forced all of it down, and slowly looked up at her.

Her eyes were liquid, and wide, and panicked. A part of him — and he wasn't sure whether it was a wholesome and healthy part, or something very different — was gratified by it. She _should_ be suffering, right alongside him. But he also hated to see her in distress, and it required a supreme effort of will not to cave in and simply comfort her, reassuring her that all would be well. He could do it so easily.

But he wouldn't go back to the holding pattern. To the ambiguity, and limbo. The lack of any timeline, or honest acknowledgment of what had happened before, along with a concrete statement of intent about the future. He'd had more than enough of waiting, and his patience had run out when he discovered that she had been lying to him.

 _From behind the glass, in front of a stranger._

A feeling like nausea chased through him, and he steeled himself for whatever she was going to say.

* * *

Beckett watched the flash of concern and what looked like compassion on his face, and her heart lifted, but then his eyes became bleak again. A look passed across them that was so dark, and resentful, and despairing, and so _worn out_ , that she immediately felt a tightness in her chest.

 _Make it count_ , her mind said in Lanie's voice, but she'd had no time to prepare. She didn't know she was going to run into him like this, and as now that he was finally here in front of her again, all she could feel was a broken mixture of relief and gratitude and fear and panic, and putting together some kind of coherent plan was the very last thing she'd be able to do right now.

She felt the moments ticking by as he looked at her expectantly — always waiting, so much time spent waiting for her, and when had it become so appallingly long since they'd talked on the swings — and still nothing came to mind. She felt the barest hint of movement in the hand of his that she held between hers, and she only squeezed more tightly.

"I…" she began, swallowing when she found that her throat was suddenly dry, and then she dropped her gaze to their entangled hands on the tablecloth. It was easier to think if she couldn't see him looking at her. She took a fast breath, and just began to speak without knowing what words would come out.

"I'm sorry, Rick. I'm so sorry. I… I don't know how to do this, but I'm going to try."

Her thumb traced across the back of his hand, moving slowly but ceaselessly, and she didn't see his eyes flicker shut for a moment before opening again.

"I hurt you. I know that now," she said, "and I never meant for it to happen. But I guess it was always going to go this way, because I should never have… lied to you."

Her voice wavered, and she risked a glance up at him, but now his eyes were closed, and his jaw was tense.

"So not just lunch after all," he said, but there was no real anger in his voice; only resignation. She knew she was taking a big risk by trying to confront their issues when he'd said he needed time, but she was desperate. The last two-and-a-half weeks had seemed like two months, and if not for their coincidental meeting today, she had no idea how long it would have been until she saw him. Or how long until she'd see him next.

"I'm sorry," she said again, "but… I just—"

She was interrupted by the waitress returning with their coffees. The young woman asked if they'd like to order food, and Beckett said they'd call her over in a little while, when it got nearer to lunchtime, and the waitress smiled and left. Beckett hadn't released Castle's hand during the entire interaction, but now he pulled it slowly but insistently from her grip.

"Let's not do this, Beckett," he said, frowning into his coffee cup, his voice weary and defeated. "I already get it. What I haven't figured out yet is how to deal with it."

She swallowed, anxiously waiting to see if he'd continue. When he didn't, she slid her now-empty hand across the table towards him, leaving it splayed on the tablecloth.

"What do you mean, you _get it_?" she asked gently. "There's nothing to get, Castle; I… I was a coward, and I should have—"

He lifted his own hand just enough to silence her, and she huffed in a mixture of frustration and guilt.

"I'm letting you off the hook," he said. "I guess I'm a slow learner. But it's not even your fault." He laughed, but it was a humourless sound, then he looked down at the salt and pepper shakers again. "It's just… my imagination's too good. That's all."

She had no idea what he was talking about, but the broken tone of his voice scared her. _Letting me off the hook? But I lied to you. I don't deserve to be forgiven just like that._

"I don't understand," she said. "Your imagination…?"

His eyes flicked up to meet hers, and he sighed deeply, then he made a half-hearted gesture that encompassed both of them, as if it somehow explained everything. She frowned and pressed her lips together, and she knew he could see that she didn't know what he meant. He sighed again.

"Look, Kate," he began tiredly, "you need to give me time. I'll get there, but I just need to… I don't even know what the right word is. Adjust."

"Adjust to what?" she asked, lifting the fingers of her hand that still lay on the tablecloth, but he didn't move.

"Things only seem clear afterwards," he said, half to himself, and she suppressed a shiver at hearing him speak aloud her own frequent thought during the silence of the last couple of weeks. "I swear that I never put it all together before. I didn't want to see it."

"See _what_?" she asked. "Castle, you're not making sense. Help me understand."

He looked at her for a moment as if she was crazy, then he shook his head briefly and sighed again. The gesture very clearly said _what does it matter anyway?_

"Well, there was _Some things are better forgotten_ ," he replied, and she felt her stomach twist. She had no chance to reply before he was speaking again. "Then the lie, for months. _Months_. And the… dance. Holding pattern. Whatever it is. And, you never meant to hurt me."

She felt the heat of shame rising in her cheeks, but still she didn't know what he meant.

"And now," he began, breaking off into another bleak little laugh and scratching his cheek, "well, now I kind of feel like the _dumbest_ kid in school. I feel like an idiot. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry for putting you in this position."

Panic was bubbling up in Beckett's chest again, because he wasn't making sense but he clearly _thought_ he knew what he was talking about, and everything about his body language said that the situation had only got worse since they started talking, not better.

"Position?" she asked. "Castle, what do you think is going on here?"

He blinked at her, and again there was the fleeting expression of disbelief, quickly swallowed up by the weariness and even a hint of shame now.

"This is… we're having the talk," he said simply. "I guess a part of me always expected it."

"The… talk," she said, watching his face for anything that would help her make sense of his words. He just nodded.

"The never-meant-to-hurt-you talk," he replied. "So I'm asking if we can skip this part. I just need some time. I'm still your friend, and I'm still going to be. I just wish you'd told me straight out, Kate. You should have just told me."

He ran a hand down his face, and it scraped against the stubble on his cheek. His eyes closed. When he spoke, his voice was barely more than a whisper.

"You should have just told me that you didn't love me."


	10. Chapter 10

_Didn't love you?_

Beckett's mouth fell open in shock, first at hearing the word again, and then at the context. She blinked. Her mind whirled with fragments of what he'd said, as she slowly began to see the alternate version of events that he'd created for himself, and had been living with.

 _Some things are better forgotten._ Like the moment she was shot. _Or his declaration of love in the moments afterwards._

 _The lie. For months._ Because she couldn't separate the trauma from the confession, and knew that she'd pull him in only to push him away again as she recovered. _Or because she wanted to pretend it had never happened._

 _The holding pattern. The dance._ Because she was getting stronger, day by day, and working to not only get past her PTSD but also to be able to live her own life. _Or because she didn't want to give him false hope that they'd be together some day._

 _And I never meant to hurt him._ Because she had planned to tell him the truth when she was also able to move forward, and have the kind of relationship she wanted to have. _Or because she knows that he loves her… but she doesn't love him._

It all made a kind of twisted sense, and all the ingredients were there. The abrupt shock of separation — when she'd said she needed time. A long period of isolation and enforced introspection, giving him plenty of time to question everything he thought he knew about their relationship — during the three months of silence. Her coming back into his life but for a purpose other than to see him — the day at the bookstore. A complete stall in whatever progress they'd been making — as they circled each other in the months since.

So he'd been hoping, because hope was his essential nature; he believed in finding the happy ending in any situation. But inside, he'd also been doubting, more and more as each week passed, and as the seasons changed, and the leaves coloured and fell, and as winter came. Whatever voice it was that lived in his head, whispering _See?_ every single time that she shut him down when he flirted with her (because it was a reminder of her own guilt), or snapped at him when she was having an anxious day (because she had an appointment with Dr. Burke coming up, or her scar was bothering her, or a loud noise had startled her), or didn't talk to him all weekend (because she needed time to just breathe and feel like a normal human being for a while, away from suspects and motives and death).

A voice in his mind that grew slowly louder, until it couldn't be ignored no matter how much hope he summoned to block it out with. And then louder still, until it surrounded him, accompanying him whenever he came into the precinct in the morning, two coffees in hand and a smile on his face that had started to show the smallest cracks around the edges.

Why hadn't she put the pieces togther? Why hadn't she noticed? Why hadn't she at least _suspected_?

But she had, of course. She had, and she'd pushed the thoughts away, shielding them with her own hope — that now looked a lot like burying her head in the sand while the man sitting across from her had apparently been breaking apart beneath the surface. Cracks, running and spiralling, widening into chasms that he'd fallen into, tumbling ever downwards, until… this.

 _Oh god, Castle, no,_ she thought, feeling the familiar phantom ache in the scar on her chest. Now that it was all laid out so clearly in front of her, she knew that cowardice wasn't her worst crime — and he had always forgiven her for it before. No, her failure here was because of her relentless self-involvement, where everything was made to be about her issues, and her needs, and her instinct to hide, and deflect, and withdraw, and push away. She'd become so used to Castle giving her what she needed — whether it was time, or a nudge in the right direction, or even just the wordless _force_ of his belief in her — that she'd forgotten there was another person to consider.

She had been a victim in life, yes… but she'd also chosen to remain one.

All these thoughts flashed through her mind in moments. And how long had it been since Castle stopped speaking? Five seconds? Maybe as long as ten?

 _Too long. Stop all of this,_ her mind said. _Stop it now. Stop it while you still can._

It was simple. It could be so simple, if she allowed it to be — and there was no longer any question of that. She had to. Because at some point, probably even before the nightmare at the cemetery and the long summer and everything since, she had quietly realised that a life without Richard Castle wasn't one she could bear to live.

She looked at him, his eyes still closed, his chest moving as he breathed almost mechanically, clearly struggling, and she knew that there was no more time… but that she also didn't need any.

Her heart broke for him, but while her voice was quiet, it was also firm.

"You're wrong," she said.


End file.
